From the Best
by mewfrosting
Summary: John learned everything he did from the best. Expansion on a drabble, tell me if yuo want me to continue, but its not on the top of my priorities. For Ms.Smilee


_**Okay, this is from my drabbles and I was told by " " to continue it. I have more inspiration for the other ones right now so this won't be on the top of my list, but I'll still work on it. **_

Sherlock bent over Molly, shaking her shoulders. "Stay with us, will you? It's the most you can do…"

Molly had been shot in the leg, making her collapse and hit her head. Sherlock had watched from afar for a few months now, but finally decided to step in when he needed a place to stay. He let Mycroft's servant get the shooter, while Sherlock stayed with Molly. _Can't go to a hospital… They'd want my ID…_ he thought, already knowing who he had to go to, but not wanting to… well, he couldn't. He wanted to go to him with all his life, but he couldn't…

Now was different. He picked up Molly and ran.

It was late at night, and rain drizzled on the door of 221B Baker Street. John sat, sipping tea and thinking. It had been months since he'd thought this much. After he got over the whenever-I-think-of-him-I-cry stage of missing Sherlock, he had gotten stuck in a pattern. This pattern consisted of waking up, getting ready for work, going to work, coming home, and sleeping. Wash, rinse, and repeat. Sherlock was dead, and though a glimmer of hope still insisted he was alive, deep in his gut, he ignored that and paid attention to the pattern instead.

Sherlock stood at the door, soaked and in a hurry—but he stopped. Knock? Barge in? He didn't have a key… so only one possibility. He knocked.

John came to the door and stood there for a second. Peeking through the hole, he realized that patterns were important.

Patterns meant something was wrong.

"Molly's more important than me right now. Let. Me. _In_."

John's eyes widened and he let Sherlock come in and set the woman down on the floor. He grabbed his first aid kit, asking what happened.

"Well, Moriarty's people were without a boss and a few were stalking me. Is it called stalking if they have a gun? Oh, I don't care," Sherlock started to talk, sitting in his chair as he watched John bend over Molly and pull her jeans up, inspecting the wound. "Anyway, I've been having both Mycroft and Moriarty's men following me. It's quite humorous, for when Mycroft's men see Moriarty's, or vice versa, they look like cartoons. Except one normally ends up dead. So, I'd finally… resorted to asking Molly for a place to stay for a while, and when we were walking home to her house one of Moriarty's shooters tried to shoot at me and missed and hit her. I'm so glad it just hit her leg, but she fell and hit her head as well."

"What about the shooter?" John asked, cleaning the wound and wrapping it. But John was mostly thinking about how glad he was to hear the detective's voice. Sherlock hadn't changed a bit since he last saw him… except the absence of blood. He had already figured to shoot first, ask questions later. Or in this case, help Molly first and ask questions later.

"Mycroft's taking care of him," Sherlock said, looking at John.

"So," John sat up, looking Sherlock in the eye. "Both Mycroft and Molly knew you were alive…"

"Yes. As well as Mrs. Hudson, it'd give her a heart attack if I died."

"Okay, and you didn't tell me?"

"John, are you gay?"

"Wha-what?!" John stood up, looking down (but not that much) at Sherlock, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You haven't moved anything in a while. You made no effort of changing the flat to rid me of your memories. I even see a few bottles of chemicals in the kitchen, where they were when I left the flat that morning. You must've grown an emotional attachment to these items, and eventually me. So I'm asking you, are you gay?"

John shifted his feet, looking at Sherlock with defeat. "Oh, She-Sherlock, you haven't had much friendship re-really. Friends don't give up on friends, and they may have as much as an attachment as couples do…"

"John. You don't have your usual military stance, and you're shifting your feet. You must've learned _something_ from your time with me."

"Alright, I learned something, and I am lying, but-"

Sherlock stood and walked up to John, putting his hands on John's arms. "And you learnt from the best," and he leaned down, pushing his lips against John's, and wrapping his arms around him. The doctor's eyes widened, before he leaned up into the kiss, his hands on Sherlock's scarf. After a while, Sherlock let go, sighing and smiling.

John cocked an eyebrow at Sherlock, but held a smile. "Where'd that come from?"

"I've have lessons from the Woman."

"What woman?" John regained his composure.

"_The_ Woman," Sherlock said, winking. "She insisted. Now, go ahead and let Molly sleep in my room, I've had enough sleeping on couches to get used to it."

"O-okay. I may need help carrying her; we don't have a trolley lying around… " Sherlock bent down, slipping his arms underneath the female doctor's body. He carried her to his own room, tucking her in before shutting the door and collapsing on the couch.

"I'm not tired."

"Well, seeing you gave me adrenaline—" John blurted before blushing and clapping a hand to his mouth. Sherlock chuckled at this, and then moved so he was sitting normally on the couch. He patted the seat beside him, letting John sit next to him.

John took the seat, and found himself leaning against Sherlock. He sat up, making the detective raise an eyebrow at him. Sherlock leaned in, putting his arm around John, as John leaned in as well. The pair closed their eyes and felt the warmth they created together, falling asleep in just a few minutes.

When John woke up in the middle of the night to rewrap Molly's arm, he saw Sherlock splayed over the couch with his arms around John. The doctor chuckled, pulling himself from Sherlock's iron grip.

When he got to Molly, he noticed she was awake. "Hey there." She murmured, smiling.

"Hey. Did you—"

"Yeah, I found the bandages and did it myself." Molly showed him her leg, moving it a bit and wincing.

"I suggest not moving it. I guess I didn't have to-"

"Unwrap yourself?" John jumped, realizing Sherlock was behind him.

"Unwrap yourself? From Sherlock? Did you make your move, Sherlock?" Molly smiled at the couple, making them both blush, at least a bit.

"In fact… yes." He smiled faintly at John, reaching for his arm.

"Well, I need some sleep. I'll let you two get back to…. Cuddling."

"Well it wasn't entirely—"

"Actually, it was, John. Now come on." Sherlock pulled John with him, shutting his door.

"Molly, call me if you need he-" John called though the closed door.

"I'm sure she's got it, John."

"What is it with people and interrupting me…?" he mumbled, shaking his head but smiling at the detective as he pulled John along to the couch.

When they'd rearranged themselves like they had been before, Sherlock snuggled into John's chest, mumbling, "I love you, John," into the doctor's arm. He stiffened, realizing what he had just said and wondering how John would respond. For once, something that mattered to Sherlock was going somewhere where he couldn't deduct what would happen. His relationship with John was in the other's hands now. He looked up at the doctor, who was looking down at him.

John smiled, realizing he was in control. Instead of responding, he sat up a bit more so he was over Sherlock and leaned down. Grabbing his scarf and watching him blush, John pushed his smiling lips against Sherlock's and pulled him up. Sherlock immediately pushed into the kiss, moving his lips in sync with John's. When John finally came up for air, Sherlock smiled and looked up into John's eyes. "I love you too," murmured the doctor, before leaning back into the kiss.

_** Johnlock. This is one of my first romantic fanfics, with the exception of a DW one I've been working on.**_

_** Please tell me if I should continue this!**_

_**~Nyaa**_


End file.
